The King's Adviser
by Dwitty
Summary: In the summer between fourth and fifth year Ronald Bilius Weasley suffers an unfortunate accident in the dark rooms of Grimmauld Place, with Harry as the only witness. Unable to save his friend Harry is driven to a different fate, and remakes himself into a different man. Nothing could ever be the same again.
1. Top Hats and Stars

**=[The King's Adviser: Top Hats and Stars]=**

Ron was dying. Harry could feel it, though the thought never had time enough to surface, as he struggled to save his friend's life.

"_Diffindo_!"

The blackened creature holding onto to Ron's top half so tightly – too tightly, it was going to crush him – did not even flinch as the spell was absorbed by its shell-like skin. Only tiny cracks appeared, giving Harry a blast of hope, until they healed before his eyes. They were both screaming.

"Harry!" Ron's voice was muffled and filled with pain and fear. "Help me, Harry!"

Ron kept stumbling about, knocking over more and more of the old junk sitting about the room. The door was already blocked by a bookcase he had sent crashing into it. His heart pounding a wild, white beat in his chest, Harry had had to make a choice to either force his way out and get help or try to remove the creature himself. He had thought he had made the best choice, stay and do just that while shouting for help, but nothing was working and they were at the top of Grimmauld Place, far from the Order meeting downstairs.

The creature was making the strangest movements, pulsing and undulating, writhing and squeezing. It was unlike anything Hagrid had ever shown them, unlike anything they had read about or seen. And it was going to kill his best friend.

He tried as carefully aimed a _reducto_ as he had ever cast, but still to no avail. _Incendio. Stupefy._ Anything and everything that would hurt what looked like a cross between a scorpion and a python.

There were voices, the thunder of footsteps, shouts of anger and calls of assistance. They were coming. Ron was going to be alright.

Harry turned back from his momentary diversion to the noise outside of the room, only to realise he did not hear Ron's voice calling for help. His best friend had slumped against the wall, the blackened thing on top of him continuing its rhythmic squirming. Only now its grip had tightened past the point- no. No, no, no. Harry shook his head. He raised his wand to try ... something. But no spells, no words, were forthcoming.

Harry Potter was standing thus, wand arm outstretched, no words upon his lips, when the door and accompanying debris were blasted not inwards but upwards. Everything that had stood between the two boys and the outside corridor was propelled safely out of the way and in stormed the Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore - thunderous and his face filled with a deep lined fury - at its head. It took him a scant moment, a look to the room, to Harry, to the bottom half of Ron and the creature consuming his top half, and he acted.

"_Ecari Voprabia Elano_!"

There was a screech, high and pathetic, and the creature flung itself across the room. Harry's eyes followed it, too stunned still to move, watched it roll over and over and then turn neatly into the innocuous top hat that Ron had placed upon his head only moments ago.

Before Harry had time to look back at Ron there were people pulling at him, shoving him and guiding him from the room. He tried to resist, to see Ron, to ask him if he was alright. The last he saw before leaving the room was a grizzled old wizard with one leg raise his wand, a crazed expression upon his face and with a furious bellow cast something black towards the top hat destroying it completely.

"Harry," the voice was soft, but firm. "Harry, look at me."

He raised his eyes automatically, his mind numb with confusion and a sudden blankness. A pale face, gaunt, grey eyes, with long black hair looked back. It took him a few moments to recognise Sirius Black.

"Harry, you have to answer me. Did you get hurt? Did it touch you? You have to tell me, Harry. This is important."

He could not understand. What was he asking? Harry was fine, it was Ron that- Ron.

"Ron!" Harry's voice cracked and he turned and tried to run back into the room. But before he got more than a few feet there were hands grabbing him, pulling him back. "Ron! No, let me go! I have to-" but he was pulled clean off of his feet. Kicking and screaming, furious anger rising up, trying to find his wand – where was his wand? – he was carried into another room off of the corridor.

"Remus, we have to check him. If it got him we'll only have a minute, maybe two."

The both of them pinned him to the bed, his angry kicking and punching ineffectual, Remus pulling at the top Harry had on, Sirius running his wand to and fro over Harry's body. What were they doing? They had to help Ron. No, no, no. Not Ron.

"I can't see any sting marks. It would be obvious, and he would already be getting weaker."

"Yes," Sirius' voice was relieved. "There's no sign of anything here either."

"What about?" Remus asked, his eyes going to the door.

Sirius looked to the door too, a flash of something crossing his face, and shook his head.

Seeing Sirius shake his head, understanding in a moment of perfect clarity what it meant, Harry felt a force hit him. A hole had opened up underneath him, and something unrelenting was pulling him in. All the world was shrinking down into the gap in his soul, pain and dizziness like he had never known, and reality was gone for a time.

The world came back, around the edges first, lines and then colour. He was surfacing, the sound coming at last but with no air. Harry was writhing, twisting and screaming, but they would not let him up. A yell he realised was his own broke out of him and Sirius and Remus both were flung back with a strength Harry did not have in his body.

Throwing himself up he fell to his knees, his stomach churning. He had to reach the door. Reach the door, get into the corridor, up the hall, through the door and to Ron. But before he could reach the first door there were hands on him again.

"Breathe, Harry. You've got to breathe." Sirius' voice was loud in his ear, the desperation sharp.

Harry Potter would later recall that before unconsciousness came for him he took a great gulp of air and emptied the contents of his stomach on to the floor.

* * *

Flashes of light and distorted voices, pressure and release, twisting and turning. Fever dreams danced within his mind. They showed him many things, both awe inspiring and terrifying. But Harry understood little of them, and remembered less. He awoke, unable to move and for a few panicked moments unable to breathe.

He could hear voices. They were concerned and hushed, but clear to him. He wanted to get up and ask them what had happened, what day it was and to find water. He was thirsty and far too warm. But he had the strength for none of this. The thought of lifting himself from the bed exhausted him and left his insides feeling scratched out.

"It'll need to be dealt with, the sooner the better." Gruff and to the point, a clanking of wooden peg upon wooden floor to emphasise their point. That could only be Mad Eye.

"He'll need time, Moody. We can't just tell him." That voice came with a dog's growl made human. Sirius, or maybe an angry Remus. Had Harry heard Remus angry? He thought so, though the memory eluded him.

"What do you suggest then? Just ignore it and hope he doesn't notice?" Another clanking thud. "Better to hear it straight, from one of us. It's the best way through the pain."

"I know this pain better than anyone, Mad Eye." Definitely Sirius this time, and definitely angry. "I know what that loss-" he choked and ground to a halt. There was some shuffling noise and he continued with a thicker voice. "Remus and I will tell him, when he wakes up. But not until then."

"Your chance is coming sooner than you think."

Moody was right. Harry was trying to get himself up, but blankets had been wrapped around him tightly. He was on the couch in the living room of Grimmauld Place and the fire was roaring.

Sirius and Remus moved over to him quickly, Mad Eye hung back near the wall where the light of the fire barely reached him.

"Too hot." Harry said, but felt his voice was too dry to be heard properly. Still, Sirius nodded his head and took one of the blankets around Harry off as carefully as he could as though afraid Harry may fall apart without it.

Harry looked up into his face, still unsure quite what was going on. It felt like he had been asleep for many days, his body sluggish and unresponsive. But he was so tired too and hardly able to move. Even breathing seemed difficult. Sirius looked strained and pale as he crouched down in front of Harry, putting himself between the fire and Harry. A fiery yellow halo glowed around him, bringing him out in stark relief. Remus sat himself carefully upon the couch near Harry's feet. He looked about as bad as Sirius.

"Harry, you've not been well." Sirius was speaking slowly. "You've been asleep for a good few hours now." His hand brushed Harry's hair. "We thought you might have been stung slightly. Grazed, maybe. But you're fine now," Sirius was quick to reassure Harry.

Harry nodded, beginning to feel agitated. There was something they were not telling him. Something they did not want to tell him. Flashes of something were coming back to him, powerful bursts of feeling. His heart was beating harder with each one, his mind more confused again.

"There was a ... thing, an animal or something. It was a ... it wasn't what it looked like."

"A top hat." Moody supplied from across the room. "Clever disguise."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Ron found it in the closet. He thought it was funny. Said he thought Malfoy probably wore one at home. Then he put it on-" Harry trailed off. It was coming back now, the sequence of it all. Ron had tried the hat on, and they had laughed, and then they had screamed as it changed into something terrible. It took only a few moments of sluggish, slow thought for Harry to know what had happened. But he had to know for sure. "Ron, is he ... did it?" Not daring to believe he forced himself to breathe again. "Is he dead?"

Sirius and Remus looked at each for a moment, Harry felt Sirius' hand tighten in his hair slightly with tension entering his body. Then he nodded.

Harry looked at them both, Remus hunched with a face so full of concern and love that Harry's heart ached and Sirius, even worse, with so much understanding empathy on his face that Harry could bear it no longer. He wriggled his way loose of the blankets, uninhibited by the pair of them this time, and stood. He did not feel anything, except the desire to be elsewhere.

"I need to go outside."

"Harry, you mustn't-"

"I need to get some air." He started to walk towards the back door. Sirius and Remus joined him, flanking him on either side and opening doors for him as they went. In moments his bare feet were on the damp grass of Grimmauld Places tiny lawn. Steam rose from his bare arms, so hot he still did not feel cold in the dead of night.

There were so many stars. He was sure he had never seen so many stars in all his life. Face still cast up he sunk to the ground where, in time, he was joined by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.


	2. Dying is Easy, Living is Hard

A/N: The first 8 chapters, 62k words, of this are up, in their second but not final draft, on DarkLordPotter for those that want to read ahead. Chapter title is shamelessly stolen from an episode of House M.D.

**=[The King's Adviser: Dying is Easy, Living is Hard]=**

_**Present...**_

Flying backwards into a wall, he was not quite sure what was going on. Regardless, his body ached. His glasses were somewhere across the room, the first piece of his dignity to get stripped away. Bright slivers of silver light were slithering across the edges of his vision. His wand was still in his hand, but only so his assailant would have an excuse to keep cursing him.

Unable to fully understand what was happening he rolled and rolled, knowing it was best to keep moving. Do not stop moving. Dizzy, dazzled by lights, deafened by noise, even at one point dancing peculiarly from some sort of itching hex, he had to keep moving.

* * *

_**48 hours to present...**_

"... it is my belief that the Dark Lord does not yet know. However, he will continue to try."

There were whispers around the table as Severus Snape finished his report. Many of the faces showed a mix between relief and worry.

"Thank you for that, Severus." Dumbledore said.

McGonagall took a sip of the wine Molly had been kind enough to give them tonight. She eyed Dumbledore as he prepared his next point. "Now we move on to more delicate matters of the heart."

The people around the table tensed, anticipating the direction of the conversation. Ronald Weasley had died only two shorts days ago, and this was the first Order meeting to have taken place since. Arthur and Molly were to her right. All at the table cast them sorrowful looks. Their youngest son's body lay, protected by powerful magic, in a room upstairs until the funeral details could be arranged and no one except those present knew that. It did not seem wise to alert his friends to it. Dumbledore directed a more pointed look at Arthur, to take up the talking. Minerva admired the man's fortitude, he had endured the most painful of losses with courage worthy of the best of Gryffindor.

"Yes, we've talked about the details of it all. We're prepared for everything, for when Charlie arrives and ..." here many knew he did want to mention his uncertainty about whether his estranged son would show to his brother's funeral. Dumbledore frowned at this, his face showing a curious expression and eyes glittered oddly. Taking a few moments to strengthen himself and tighten his hold on his wife's hand Arthur carried on. "Anyone here is welcome to attend, of course, I know Ron liked all of you ..."

Minerva heard Severus make a noise of derision, likely a snort, but quite by coincidence both Kingsley and Alastor surrounded him on this meeting and he was silent shortly after. Otherwise there were quiet words of ascent and condolences. She added her own. To have lost someone so young, one of her Gryffindors, and for it to not even be to the war. Loss was an important lesson to learn, but why that foolish, brave boy? He could have gone so far.

Arthur carried on as though he had heard nothing, the wisest decision in Minerva's mind. "It will be at our traditional resting place in Cambridgeshire." Here he seemed to run out of words, the contemplation of putting his son to his eternal sleep too much. Molly heaved a breath, the stoic facade she had erected for the past few days slipping. Their hands were clasped tightly, white knuckles the truest show of their grief.

"He will be sorely missed." Dumbledore sighed and age weighed him down for all to see. "How is everyone coping? The other children? Harry?"

"Oh, Harry." Molly became more energised in her sorrow. Her voice thickened as she spoke. "The poor dear, he completely blames himself for what happened. But if I hadn't sent the boys up there, t-t-to keep them out of trouble while the meeting was going on, then-"

"We cannot blame ourselves for such things, Molly. The only people truly responsible for what happened are those who would keep such monstrosities in their home in the first place." Dumbledore said. She nodded her head after a few moments, the movement mechanical, before rising up and preoccupying herself with collecting cups and glasses. Tonks rose to help her, sending her chair clattering to the ground.

"If you would only let me alone with the boy for five minutes, Albus, I could have him sorted out." Moody growled.

Minerva appraised him and the certainty of his words. He did have a somewhat unusual attitude towards death, even for an Auror. She knew he was not wrong in that Harry needed to be brought out of the shell he was hiding in. The boy could not be allowed to go to Hogwarts filled with grief and rage. He was no Dumbledore or Riddle, but the chaos a genuinely disturbed Harry Potter could wield was not inconsiderable. Still, was allowing Alastor Moody to 'help' Harry as he saw fit really the best path? She did not entirely agree, but did Albus?

"I will consider it further, Alastor." His response was met with a derisive grunt from the ex-Auror. "The twelfth of August hearing has been cancelled and moved to the sixteenth of August to incorporate the new charges against Harry. I shall have to think carefully about a valid reasoning for that also. I will be there at the Ministry to argue his defence. Arthur, I would rather that Alastor accompany Harry to the Ministry, all things considered. You have other things to be getting on with."

Minerva was slightly surprised. Alastor had not stepped foot in the Ministry for some years, and mostly out of a strong dislike for the politicians and politics he had only been too glad to leave behind. It was one of his favourite topics to wax lyrical on when he had over imbibed from his hip flask.

The man himself showed momentary surprise, all eyes turning to him. He grunted assent after a few moments. Sirius adjusted himself in a sharp movement, clearly still displeased at Dumbledore's rejection of his offer to accompany Harry in his animagus form.

"Very well, I think that is all."

* * *

_**24 hours to present...**_

"I do like it when you inform me ahead of time about the tasks you need me to take care of." Moody said. "Like when you warned me beforehand that I would be taking the Potter boy to his hearing."

Dumbledore merely hummed, flicking the pages of a magazine. He bounced his head in an absent minded nod.

They sat in Dumbledore's office, the tiny form of Fawkes on his perch and the portraits of sleeping headmasters around them. Moody's leg was aching slightly and without really noticing he was doing it he took a draw from his hip flask. The pain relief followed moments after. He ignored the slightly disapproving look Dumbledore directed at his magazine, but was meant for him.

Mad Eye did not wait for the Headmaster. "What exactly is the plan here, Albus? You want me involved in this somehow, don't you?" He leaned forward, his blue eye buzzing, relaying information in its usual heavy stream. Two house elves were creeping around them, nigh on undetectable. There was a nest of mice behind one of Dumbledore's couches in the next room. It was likely his latest pet project or dinner for his bird. "What role am I playing this time?"

Dumbledore closed the last page, and hummed. His hand was making gestures, as though trying to cast a spell without a wand. A gentle and vague smile was all Moody got out of him, making him worry about the truth of the articles proclaiming the aged Headmaster to be mad as a hatter. It was not a new concern either.

"A wondrous thing, magic, people can be so terribly inventive with it. Don't you agree, Alastor?"

Closing his mouth, Moody bit his tongue. The point of this would come. Eventually.

Forcing himself to move on Moody decided to voice his own concerns, rather than just wait for Albus. "The boy could start taking a darker route, Albus. If he's not watched closely."

"Perhaps. It is a very real possibility and it is not something I have failed to consider. But I feel it unlikely."

"You still want me to keep an eye on him though, aye?" Moody's eye spun wildly again.

Dumbledore looked to an instrument in his room, thin as foil and shiny as a newly pressed penny it made periodic pinging noises.

"Oh yes, indeed do."

Sighing, Dumbledore nodded his head again. But his expression became less wistful and he sat up straighter. He looked to a few of the portraits around the room and the occupants seemed to take a signal from it, for they left their frames and went about some duty or other.

"Harry will require another reason, other than Dementors this time, for his use of magic. I have sealed the house from Ministry detection, a decision I now wish I had made earlier. Regardless, you will have a key role to play Alastor."

"That being?" He growled. Here it was, he preferred it when things were simpler, straight orders, a bottom line, an objective and somebody to move against, just like in the old days.

"Oh, I'm sure," said Dumbledore, his face now even more worryingly airy, "you'll do fine. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities to know the appropriate words and the appropriate junctures at which to speak them." The headmaster popped a sweet into his mouth. "Perhaps spending some time talking it through with Harry might be advantageous."

* * *

_**6 hours to present...**_

"How is Ginny taking it?" Harry asked.

"I'll let you know when she comes out of the attic for more than meals." Hermione replied.

Harry nodded. He was not sure what else to do. It seemed he had been nodding, at a loss for words, a lot the last few days. He sat upon his bed in his room. He did not share the room anymore.

The Weasleys had banded together in the initial aftermath. They had formed a tight circle that even Harry and Hermione had found themselves outside of, for a time. But then they had dispersed, going about their own business and dealing with the aftermath in their own way.

"What about the twins? Have you spoken to them?" She asked in turn.

"I popped my head into their room. They were over a cauldron and didn't look like they'd like to be disturbed." She bobbed her head in understanding.

Hermione, like Harry, sat on his bed and they both had their glassy eyes turned towards the other, unmade, bed.

"Mr and Mrs Weasley are keeping themselves as busy as possible, I think. Mrs Weasley especially. She keeps giving me things to do."

"The funeral is in two days." He said. They had been told that evening. It was bringing finality to it all so quickly. They said it could not really wait, that it was a matter of custom.

"Yes." She sniffed, took a tissue of her pocket and held it in her hand. "I think they might want you to say something, Harry. You know, being his best friend."

"We should say something, you're better at this stuff. You were his friend too." Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't- I don't, know what to say. What do you say to this?"

He had not really meant it as a question. He did not really want an answer. Cedric had not really been his friend, not like Ron. There was nothing to be said. He had failed Cedric, he had failed Ron.

"Wizards have a few different customs. The Weasleys follow a fairly traditional line." She still held her tissue, unused, in her hand. "There will be a blanket wrapped around the deceased, they will be carried to the burial point, with their wand on them if there was a body, by the closest brothers or sisters or by magic, there will be words spoken by the head of the family and those closest to the departed will be invited to speak. They usually speak of the person's greatest achievements in life, what was their greatest worth or accomplishment. Then they seal the grave."

Harry blinked and turned to her. Her voice was so detached. She did not even sound like she knew the person she was talking about. He wanted, at that moment, to reach out and hold her hand. To show some sign of understanding. But he knew how he felt when every single member of the Order tried to do the same with him, Sirius and Remus included.

Instead he stood and began to pace around the room. There was still debris from Ron's trunk, open at the foot of his bed, on the floor and a Quidditch magazine on the bed.

He stared at one of Ron's uncompleted essays, potions by the looks of it, on the table. He traced his finger along the messy scrawl.

"What is death?" Harry asked no one in particular.

"The end." Hermione replied without hesitation.

"Is it? Does it need to be?"

There was a few seconds pause. Harry's shoulders tensed as he realised what he had said, instead of just thought.

"Harry, you're not thinking-"

"I don't know what I'm thinking." He shook his head angrily. "Dumbledore calls it the next great adventure. But what does that even mean?"

"Harry." Her voice was breaking now. "Ron is dead." She took a moment, her eyes widening. It was the first time Harry had actually heard her say it. "Ron is dead and he won't be coming back." She swayed for a moment, Harry almost walked back to support her, but she steadied and put her tissue to her face.

"Have you spoken with Sirius or Remus, Harry?"

"A little. It's kind of awkward." He did not know how to say that Remus was distant and distracted, that Sirius seemed to think he and Harry shared some new bond. He tried to put his thoughts into words, but again he failed. "I guess."

Hermione was making sharper noises now, her tears flowing. Harry walked further away over to the window. It was night outside, but the stars were not all that visible what with the Muggle streetlamps. He had cried some, too. Mostly he had dreamed. He had dreamed of dark creatures, tight spaces and a suffocating force and a voice loud and panicked. A voice calling for his help, but he could not find the source, he could hardly move in these dreams. He would awake confused and be unable to sleep anymore. Every night now he had gone to that place.

"I'm going to-" Hermione struggled to talk and stopped to blow her nose, "I'm going to go see if Ginny is willing to come down. Dinner time isn't far off. You should probably-"

"Yeah." He cut her off. "I think I'll go read. Work on homework maybe. I'll see you then."

But he had no intention of working on homework. Something about this house, about the darkness of its past owners, had occurred to him and he wanted to check it out.

* * *

_**1 hour to present...**_

Harry had retreated to the library to avoid the intensity of the house. That those around either knew his suffering or wanted to sympathise with him helped nothing. He needed escape, a way out, somewhere safe and far, far away. What he really needed was to fly, maybe just to keep on flying and never stop. Keep going until either he stopped working or the Firebolt did. But he could not. So Harry had gone to the library, where only Hermione inhabited regularly and where he knew she would not be.

The library in Grimmauld Place had many books. Most of them were of no interest to Harry: treatises on the inferiority of Muggles, genealogies of Wizarding families and much along a similar vein. But it was to the books on exotic creatures he went. There were only a few of these, aged and cracked, but they were easy enough to find. A half dozen of these books sat piled in front of him, one open in his lap.

Reading through the driest and some of the most unpleasant script he ever had - the Black family naturally favoured the murkier end of the spectrum when it came to animals – he sought out the answers no one had given him. It was in the middle of one of the last books, a book on custom demon breeding for the wealthy, that he found it.

_A not too distant cousin to the Lethifold, a member of the same family as Dementors; it has a disruptive influence on wizards magic when not properly caged; makes apparition in its vicinity difficult if not impossible; capable of disguising itself in a number of forms, most of which would let it get close enough to humans to attack; extremely tough; venomous._

... _susceptible, though not maximally vulnerable, to the Patronus charm_...

Harry took a few moments to contemplate that line. He read past it deliberately before coming back again and again. No one had said anything about that, no one had said it would have been so easy to at least drive the creature back. Harry closed the book. He placed it, using both hands, on top of the pile and sorted them so that the edges of all the books lined up. Standing, be placed his hands on the table and looked down at the cover.

He closed his eyes.

Then he struck the books with his forearm and clenched fist, sending them bouncing and flapping to the floor. One of them had managed to stay on the table, so he hurled it at the door. He wanted to smash them to pieces, to stamp on them, tear them, set them alight and watch them burn. The urge to flip the table over and break its legs was too much, but the direction of his anger was wild and he moved from knocking it over to kicking his chair across the room. It was not enough, it would never be enough. There could never be enough destruction and damage.

Ron was dead and he could have saved him.

Everything around him had to hurt as he hurt, feel as he felt, suffer as he suffered. His chest heaved and his heart thundered and ached. Things were flying around the room, by his hand or by his will alone, he was losing control as whiteness swept into his vision, memories failing to form and the order of coherent thought abandoned. Moments or minutes may have moved by him, he did not know. The world was gone again.

The splash of water hit his face and he jerked back. Sudden realisation and comprehension filled him, but his anger stayed. Looking around he appraised the damage he had done: broken chairs and tables, books torn into pieces, even the newly flowered plant in the corner was smouldering. Moody was standing in front of him, wand in hand, acting as the line that brought Harry back in. He looked from Harry to the damage and anger filled his face.

"Explain."

But there were almost no words. Still there was not enough distance for him to speak his mind. He merely flailed his arm in the direction of the book, said "Patronus" and turned away.

It did not take long for Mad Eyed to connect the dots. "Ah, I see. You went and did a little research." Moody limped towards him. Harry felt a mixed urge to flee and to strike out. "Well, now you know. The same deal you got yourself into with the Ministry could have helped Weasley."

Harry turned to face him. "Are you saying it was my fault?" Something fell to their right, another book or table or something collapsing from Harry's assault.

Rather than answer with words Moody met Harry's eyes with both of his own, the electric blue suddenly and completely still. Anger overwhelmed any fear Harry may have normally had and he stared back defiantly.

Then Moody punched Harry in the stomach. The wind gone from him Harry could not work up the strength to struggle as he was dragged by the scruff of his neck from the room.

* * *

_**Present...**_

Harry regained his feet and kept his back to the wall. The blur that was Moody was nowhere to be seen.

Objects were in odd places around the large room, covered by greying sheets. The Black family clearly used this place as storage of some kind. Though what was under all this he could not tell: dark artefacts, books, furniture. Who knew what they kept out of the way of the rest of the house.

There was some movement to his right, the shuffling of a cloak. He spun round and pointed his wand that way. His heart was pounding hard against his chest, but he kept his breathing even. He did not even know if he could use his wand. If this Moody was an imposter, again, then Harry had to. He had to escape.

They had said that Ron's death was an accident, but what if this person was not Moody at all and had planted the creature here? Harry could have just as easily been the one clearing out that closet. Maybe he was the actual target. But how would they have gotten in in the first place?

Forcing those thoughts from his head Harry crept lightly towards where he knew his glasses had been banished.

"What's wrong, Potter? Afraid to use magic? Afraid to fight?"

Harry paused. The voice had seemed to come from his right, but had finished off coming from his left. He cast his eyes about uncertainly. It sounded like Moody, even the tone was similar. But the first imposter had been very convincing, enough so for Dumbledore. Barty Crouch was dead. Wasn't he?

"Afraid that the Ministry will punish you?"

He ignored the voice, the hair on his arms rising up, and continued forward. He was being watched. Stalked like an animal. More than that, he was being played with. He was not a toy for some sadistic polyjuice using assassin.

"Afraid to be bested? Afraid you won't be enough?"

There they were, his glasses. The glint of light out of the corner of his eye, so familiar from Quidditch, was his saving grace. He moved swiftly towards them, feeling as though if he could only see properly he might be able to escape without using magic, without getting in trouble with the Ministry again and without getting himself killed.

But the voice was softer this time, and its words more cutting. "Afraid you'll fail again, like you failed Ron?"

There was not a single moment of hesitation. Blinding white light filled his mind and his eyes and in turn the room. Fire lanced from his wand, an _Incendio_fiercer than he had cast before. Surprised momentarily by the sheer intensity Harry jerked his wand up, spreading the flame to the wooden rafters above them. Recovering quickly, his anger was not abated by the wanton destruction. He turned and was about to cast the same spell again, wanting more this time, when his feet were pulled out from under him.

Rolling about he started to crawl towards the glasses. Reaching out he grabbed for them, only for his hand to find nothing at all. Swearing loudly he stood back up and surveyed the damage. He kept a careful distance from the fire, and was backing up as it spread quickly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

A low chuckle, followed by a spell, and the fire began to swirl above Harry's head. That that had been in the rafters descended in a spiral, that below rose up twirling as it went. A hurricane of fire was forming in mid-air, the heat overwhelming but almost noiseless. Harry squinted his eyes, his vision clearing slightly in the brighter room. He held up a hand to shield himself from the inferno, taking several steps back.

"The night we came for you, Lupin asked you what form your patronus took. You answered a stag. I told you to keep your wand out of your back pocket."

Harry froze, disbelief spreading in him. He could tell he would be quite a sight, his hair even more disarrayed than usual, its edges singed and his mouth open.

"Wait, you're actually Mad Eye? Then what's going on here?"

"Less talk," the voice stopped, and suddenly Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was across from him "more fight."

A sharp snap of his wand and something that was part lightening, part firestorm, connected Moody's wand with the swirl of fire in the air before it whipped out towards Harry.

He gasped and threw himself with all the force he could to the right, never having seen magic like this he did not even want to risk a Protego. Skidding along the floor he aimed at Moody.

"_Expelliarmus_!" He shouted.

Moody was taken by surprise and the spell was just about to connect when he stamped his false foot and it fizzled out. He grinned at Harry's stunned expression.

"Come on, Potter. Even the worst probationary Aurors have more than this."

He flicked his wand and Harry was flipped around and around, flying upwards. He landed heavily on what was fortunately, it was hard to tell through the sheet covering it, a couch. Harry pulled himself over the couch and hid behind it as another spell hit where he had just been.

It was too late to worry about the Ministry. "_Accio_glasses."

Harry popped his head out and saw, rather than his glasses, an entire coat rack flying towards him with the sheet that had been covering it hanging on by a single hook like a skeletal wraith. He threw himself out of the way, desperate to avoid being impaled by it. Harry started to run, his feet slipping under him as he regained his footing, and dashed behind more of the debris littering the room. He could hear Moody's laughter as the coat rack smashed itself into pieces.

"Not that easy, is it?"

Suddenly, Moody was in front of him. Too close for spells Harry, without even realising he was doing it, kicked out. His foot, barely in range, caught Moody between the legs and Harry shoved him to the ground as he ran past. He had considered, for the barest moment, firing a Stunner but a barrage of swear words and spells were already flying at him again.

Losing himself in between everything again, Harry took a moment to catch his breath. He began to circle the outside of the room slowly. He was willing to bet that the doors were locked, but would an Alohomora open them? He did not know what was going on or what to expect. If he could just get an eye in on Moody for a few seconds, just enough for a Disarming Charm or a Stunner and it would be over.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, vision still blurred, Harry spun and let loose another spell.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

But something the size of a bed moved in front of it and stood up to take the blast. "Damn it, boy. You don't need to shout out every spell."

Harry was beginning to feel he was as much being tested, watched and observed like an experiment in a classroom, as he was being taunted. His frustration and anger at the situation was kept at a low burn as he stayed focussed on the challenge.

There, past the things in front of him, Moody was standing in a small clearing, both his eyes carefully scanning the room.

_The bloody eye_, Harry thought. _Of course._

If he could only be on the other side of Moody, where he had already looked, Harry could cast something and end this. But there was no way he could reach it. His attention was on the spot he wanted to be at, all his attention on it, as he turned to try something else and-

Suddenly, he was being pressed in from all sides, blackness and pressure abounded and Harry could not breathe. Something must have hit him. He had not even seen Moody turn to him yet. He was being squeezed through a tube. Then, just as suddenly, Harry was looking at Moody from a different angle. From across the room. Moody was turning his back on Harry at this very moment.

Not understanding what had happened but without waiting for even a second, Harry aimed.

"_Stupefy_!"

There another dizzying blur of movement as his feet went out from under him. Something had slammed into the back of legs and carried on across the room. His head hit the floor and Harry's vision went black.

Jerking awake, dazed for a moment, Harry reached for his wand only to find it was nowhere near him. Looking up, he saw Moody holding two.

"Nice try, laddy." Moody reached down and with strength surprising for a man with so many war wounds heaved Harry to standing. "I'd been told you have some talent."

Harry, despite his aches and pains and humiliations and the utter confusion, felt a momentary spike of pride flare. The months of preparing for the third task had to count for something. He had stood up to an Auror, even if only for a few minutes.

"It's a shame you didn't use it at all, but I'm sure it's there." Moody summoned his glasses from across the room and handed them to him. Harry was not quite sure when the fire had disappeared, it occurred to him suddenly that it had slipped from his attention after it had bolted at him. "This room is protected against the Ministry's ability to detect underage magic: Dumbledore's handiwork. Are you going to put some practice in tonight, or should I lock this room up?"

Rather than answer, Harry asked "what's any of this supposed to teach me, Mad Eye? What was the point of all this?"

His question was greeted with a snort.

"What made you think I was trying to teach you something? Not that you don't need it, you sound like the O.W.L. defensive spell lexicon." He took a swig of his flask. "I just don't want you runnin' around causing mayhem and tearing up anymore books. I thought a little exercise would tucker you out."

There was something more to Moody's look, but Harry was too sore to think about it. Instead, Harry bowed his head. The hollow sense of loss was back now, no longer held at bay by the threat of Mad Eye's magic. What he had found out. He could have actually done something to save Ron. It had been possible and so easy. The Patronus was one of his most powerful pieces of magic. He lost himself in his own thoughts, considering the impossible. Moody was giving him an appraising look, swirling the contents of his flask. Harry could tell, distantly, that he was considering something. He seemed to reach a decision and held out the flask to Harry.

Harry took it without hesitation. Not because he wanted any of whatever it was, but because it would annoy Moody to be so trusting. He was disappointed when nothing more interesting than water met his tongue. Handing it back Harry limped over to a chair and sat down upon it, sighing. The pain in his knees started to subside as soon as he rested.

Moody was still watching him and Harry was really starting to wish he would look away. The fighting had made him forget everything else, even when Ron was mentioned he had kept his edge. Had that been the point of all this really, just to distract him? Moody said so, but it was awfully elaborate.

He needed to leave the room. He needed food and sleep. Most of all he needed to be away from this lunatic.

"Weasley's funeral is in two days. The hearing the day after. You gonna be ready for either of them, boy? Or what comes after?"

"What's after? Hogwarts? Quidditch? Living here forever? Voldemort?"

"Heh, life is what's after. And let me tell you," Moody leaned in, his face now only a few inches from Harry's, "dying may be easy, but living, especially with the dead, is hard." He straightened up again, a grimace of pain following. "You've got talent boy. Stick in at school, pay attention to your professors, actually get to know your magic and you may just be something. In the meantime, no more temper tantrums."

Having spoken, Moody departed.


End file.
